Just a word of warning to any of you who even suggest for a moment that this story is in the slightest bit autobiographical. It is set in 1964, I wasn’t born until 1962 so be careful; unless you really want to get barred from my pub that is.
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Even for a Tuesday in July it was slow. I’d only seen one customer all morning. The clock had gone on a go slow. It was still only 12-15pm. In another quarter of an hour I could close for lunch.
God, I was bored. It was tedious enough when there were two of us but now that Norman had started the ‘Mobile Shop’ and I was left to run the village shop alone it was worse. Even with the Light Programme playing on the radio in the background, I thought that I would die of loneliness.
The shop used to do well but these days it couldn’t make a profit on its own. When everyone relied on the bus to get to Dorchester they bought their day to day groceries from us. But now that a few more people had cars they would travel into town. That’s why my husband had started loading up the converted coach and driving from small village to small village selling goods. The people that lived in them were pleased with the innovation. They weren’t on the bus route so to have fresh goods available was nice.
Increasingly, some of the new customers were getting cars as well so it wasn’t all great.
The downside, from my point of view, was that Norman left here at nine in the morning and wouldn’t get back till six.
Our fourteen year old daughter, Christine, was picked up by the school bus every morning at 8 o’clock and didn’t get home until 5.30pm. Still, in another couple of weeks she would be on her six weeks holiday so she will be around to help out in the shop a bit.
I say a bit, because she won’t want to and I won’t make her help me. She will be off with her friends most of the time. Doing whatever teenagers do these days.
I’m not jealous of my own daughter. Well, I suppose I am a little. Things have changed a lot in the last ten years or so. When I was young we didn’t even realise that we were teenagers; not around these parts anyway.
Youngers have suddenly grown minds of their own. We just did what our parents told us to do.
When Norman showed an interest in me, my parents said he was a good catch and that I should marry him. So that’s what I did. Living on a farm the best that I could hope for was to marry a farmer. Norman was two steps above that. His parents owned the village shop.
I was nineteen and Norman was twenty-nine. Within a year Christine was born. There had been no sign of a second child yet. Around here that’s not unusual. I am an only child, Norm is an only child. Almost everyone I know is an only child.
Within ten years Norman’s mother and father had retired to a little cottage in Lyme Regis.
Things are different for Christine than they were for me. The young sort of demand their freedom like they are entitled to it. Norman blames Rock and Roll. In particular, that Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard. Elvis sort of passed me by but I had quite liked Cliff.
I’d always half listened to Saturday Club on the radio and in an attempt to show an interest in the things that Christine liked, we’d occasionally watched that Top of the Pops that started on the BBC earlier that year. The music is a bit way out and I often made a fool of myself by asking a silly question. Christine just rolled her eyes at me.
When we first got married, Norman was a little conservative but now he’d developed into a boring bastard.
He liked the same thing for his tea on the same day each week. He dressed exactly as his father did. He voted Starzbet the same way too. I don’t know anything about Norman’s parent’s sex life but I suspect that they had it in the same position, only on Saturday Nights, with the lights off; because that’s what we did. Most Saturday nights that was. Sometimes Norman was too tired.
It makes me sound like one of those sex maniacs that you hear about. I’m not. I don’t want the earth but I couldn’t help thinking that a little warming up first or even some kissing would be nice. I felt like I could enjoy sex if it lasted just a bit longer.
Village women talk. Not in any great detail but enough to let me know that things are changing in the bedroom but not in mine. One woman, Alice, actually told me that she enjoyed sex. My mother said to me that if men thought that women had any feelings down there we’d never get out of bed.
Norman played in the pub darts team and I always went to watch. It gave me a chance to talk to other wives about things that aren’t shop related. The conversation usually got around to the subject of men. Most of the wives didn’t have a very high opinion of them. That woman, Alice, you know the one who said she likes sex also likes men. She was a bit drunk one night and she told me that she had had three orgasms. I had to pretend that I knew what she was on about.
I asked my mother what they were. She said that she had had one once. It was like one of those H Bombs going off inside you. She had asked her mother about it but she said that not long ago women were put in the Looney Bin for having them.
You can’t live your life through your children, I know, but I did encourage Christine to be a bit trendy. I made most of her clothes so we watched telly together and if she saw a dress she liked I would try to copy it. Obviously, not with the skirt quite so short. Because the telly is in black and white we had to take a guess at the colours. I even made myself one based on a dress of Kathy Kirby’s that I’d seen on the cover of a magazine. I must admit that some of my dresses had become a bit shorter than they were. Not that Norman noticed if my knees were showing.
I’m thirty-four and he’s forty-four. We didn’t have a lot in common.
You are probably saying why didn’t you leave him? It’s not that simple. He hasn’t committed adultery, he’s not actually cruel or insane so I couldn’t divorce him.
12.20pm. I moved the Yardley’s Lavender Gift Set on the top shelf. The emergency half bottle of Johnny Walker was still there. In reality, it was half of a half bottle but we don’t need to talk about that. It was behind the Yardley’s Lavender Gift Set because that was the least likely thing in the shop to be sold.
Nobody ever in the history of England actually used a Yardley’s Gift Set. I had won this Lavender one in a Church Fête Tombola. I put it in the shop just in case a village lady forgot a friend’s birthday and needed a last minute gift. That’s what Yardley’s Gift Sets were for.
In the beginning, some woman had no idea what to buy a friend as a last minute gift for her birthday. So, in desperation she dashed into Boots the Chemist. There before her was the answer to her prayers. A set containing talcum powder, soap and a lotion to moisturiser your body.
The friend said, “Just what I needed.” Or words to that effect and then put the Yardley’s Gift Set in a drawer.
Many years later, when she needed a last minute gift for a friend, she remembered the gift set.
Into another drawer it went, once this friend had said, “How lovely,” or words to that effect.
One day when a donation for the Church Fête Tombola was needed out it came. The winner put it in a different Starzbet Giriş drawer until it was needed as a gift or a prize.
That’s how Yardley invented ‘Perpetual Motion’.
This particular Yardley’s Lavender Gift Set was sitting on the shelf just waiting for its Day of Resurrection.
I replaced it, resisting the Whiskey.
Something grey flashed past the shop window and then I heard the squeal of brakes.
Minutes later, the shop door bell jangled. Four young men burst in. I wasn’t sure if I was pleased that we had customers or annoyed because they were certainly going to make my lunch break late.
“Good Afternoon,” I said.
“Afternoon lady,” one of them said. The others sort of grunted or said nothing. I was trying to watch all of them at the same time. They were wandering around the shop picking things up and looking at them. I’m not sure that they put everything back.
“We’ve been staying overnight in a farmer’s field up the road. He calls it a campsite but he’s delusional. There’s a chemical karsy and a cold shower. He charged the earth for it too. Still after four nights kipping in a cold van in lay-bys it was an improvement.
“He said that you might have something that could pass for breakfast,” the first chap said.
“I’ve got three Cornish Pasties and a Scotch Egg. A lady in the village makes them,” I answered.
“Wow, foreign food! We’ll take them.”
I put them into individual paper bags. It was a bit annoying as I’d had one of the pasties earmarked for my lunch. I supposed that I would have to have a tin of pilchards on toast instead.
The others threw a few bags of Smith’s Crisps onto the counter.
“Why are you boys sleeping in your van?” I asked. I called them boys but they must have been about twenty. They were really scruffy and all had long hair of various lengths. They were what Norman would call Beatniks.
The first bloke seemed to be the only one who could speak. He said, “We’re on the road. Last night we played in Devizes and tonight we’re playing in Dorchester.”
“Playing?” I asked.
“Yeh, we’re a Beat Group. Don’t you recognise us. We’re quite famous,” he said. The others laughed.
My mind whirled. What groups did I know? They weren’t the Beatles or Gerry and the Pacemakers. I’d seen them on Top of the Pops. Those lads were quite smart although the Beatles had long hair that was cut tidy. Some of the village lads tried to copy them but it just looked as if someone had put a pudding basin on their head and cut round it.
What scruffy groups were there?
Then it came to me. “You aren’t the Rolling Stones, are you?” I asked.
“Good girl. Yeh, we’re the Stones. I’m Mick and this is Keith, Brian and Bill. Charlie wasn’t hungry so he stayed in the van,” said Mick.
“Oh my daughter loves you. Could I get your autographs for her?” I said.
“Yeh, sure thing. Where’s your daughter, ” Mick said. The others giggled.
“At school. She won’t be home till about five.”
“Shame, said Mick, “You don’t look old enough to have a daughter.”
“I’m thirty-four and Christine’s fourteen,” I told him blushing.
Mick answered, “We love older women. So much more sophisticated.”
It momentarily crossed my mind to ask why they hadn’t stayed the night in a B that was another first for me. This was what Saturday nights should have been like. I loved it. Yes, I liked sex. Yes, yes, yes!
He spunked into me quite quickly. But he didn’t roll off, he tried to keep going as long as he could. I had the feeling that my pleasure was secondary to his pleasure but I really didn’t mind.
When he finally stopped he said, “You are going to love this one boys. She drags Starzbet Güncel Giriş it out of your balls.”
Keith turned me over onto my hands and knees. That felt different. A good different. I knew it was dirty. It made me feel dirty and I liked it. I’d never felt hands on my hips during sex before. It made me feel connected. Keith was banging against my bum which added a whole extra area of pleasure. He balls slapped into me too. He was deeper than I knew was possible.
Brian knelt in front of me and pushed his cock into my mouth. That was another thing that I shouldn’t have liked but I did. Just the physical sensation against my lips and my tongue and my cheek was so incredible.
A couple of times Keith slapped my ass as he shagged me. It hurt a bit but it felt naughty as well.
“Ah! I know what you mean ……err…….Bill, she won’t let you hold back,” he said as his hips jerked.
Brian said, “I’m having some of that. Stay where you are, lady, I’m changing ends.”
He just took over where Keith had left off. Bill and Keith had done all the work but Brian was reaping the benefit. Another orgasm ripped through me. My fanny gripped his cock. It was even better than the Mars Bar.
I was a quivering wreck for a while. I didn’t know what to do so I turned over onto my back and just lay there trying to suck in as much air as I could.
“Do you sell Vaseline?” asked Mick.
“There on the second shelf,” I pointed, “why do you need that?”
“I’m going to shag your bum,” said Mick.
“What? I thought that only queer men did that,” I said surprised.
“Oh no,” said Mick, “it’s all the rage with the show biz ladies in London.”
He reeled off a whole list of well known women who ‘took it up the ass’, including two who were very close to the Royal Family. According to Mick, the wife of a very famous comedian always took it ‘back stage’ while her husband was doing his act.
“A lot of High Society women much prefer it that way.”
I’d never heard about that sort of thing. Nobody at darts had mentioned it. I couldn’t wait to tell them how trendy I was (or maybe I would keep it to myself).
Mick stood there rubbing Vaseline onto his dick. He stood me up and bent me over. He told me to put my hands on the counter.
“As it’s you first time, I’ll go very gently to start with but you’ll soon be begging me to fuck you hard,” he said.
I was excited. It was going into the unknown but today almost everything was unknown. So far I was a big fan of the unknown.
Mick pushed it in slowly. It was OK. Inch by inch deeper until I could feel his ball against me. He just held himself completely still for a few minutes. Then he started to gently move back and forth.
He increased his speed but because I didn’t actually beg him to fuck me hard he didn’t.
It did feel strange. He was touching bits that the others hadn’t. It was nice but not as nice as the orgasms. I wondered if you could get an orgasm like this. Before I had a chance to find out Mick’s cock pulsed spunk into my bum. Now that did feel good. He was in no hurry to pull out of me. Even that felt lovely. Someone just giving a little extra attention, not just rolling off and going to sleep.
While Mick had kept me entertained the other added things to the stuff on the counter.
Keith said, “Sorry to love you and leave you but we need to be off about now.”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought that you might introduce me to Charlie.”
“What? Oh, no Charlie’s a bit shy. You know what drummers are like,” laughed Keith.
The lads gathered everything from the counter and headed for the door. Bill unlocked it and turned the sign to ‘Open’. He picked up two large bottles of fizzy pop from the shelf by the door.
I was about to tell him that there was a deposit on the bottles which you got back when you returned them, but I thought better of it.
Then I was alone again. Standing there in just my suspender belt, nylons and shoes.